The woman continued, with a shrug that made my stomach turn. “This is a father-daughter dance. If you don’t have a father—”
“She has a father,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “He gave his life serving this country. Defending you too.”
A few nearby parents went silent. Some looked embarrassed. Others looked away.
The woman opened her mouth again, but before she could speak, the gym doors slammed open with a sound so sudden and powerful that everyone jumped.
Bang.
The music cut off.
The room fell into stunned silence.
Every head turned toward the entrance.
A line of Marines stood there in dress uniform, their posture straight, their presence filling the doorway with quiet authority. There were twelve of them, polished shoes gleaming beneath the lights. And at the front stood a tall man with silver stars on his shoulders.
A general.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then the general’s gaze crossed the room and landed on Katie.
His expression changed—not into a smile, not exactly, but into something deeply tender. He walked across the gym with measured steps, the Marines following behind him in perfect formation. The crowd parted wordlessly.
I could barely breathe.
Katie rose slowly to her feet.
